


Precarious Pasts on Sallow Skin

by misha_collins_butt



Series: Murphamy/Memoramy [4]
Category: The 100
Genre: Angst and Smut, Bellamy's POV, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Prostitution, Profound, Smut, Sort Of, child prostitution (mentioned), medical setting, survival sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: Bellamy's on volunteer duty in the clinic and his last patient is, you guessed it, Murphy. He expects a lot of things of Murphy, but certainly not this.(Hurt/comfort leads to exam room smut)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, John Murphy/Bellamy Blake, Murphamy
Series: Murphamy/Memoramy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599514
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	Precarious Pasts on Sallow Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Canon Divergence: I swapped Murphy's parents' roles in his life for the effect of relation.
> 
> I don't own the characters, but this is unbeta'd, so I do own the mistakes

"Last one for the day," said Jackson, peeking through the door and handing over a patient file. With raised brows, he added, "Good luck."

He was out of sight before Bellamy could ask what he meant by that, though it didn't take long to figure out. He peeked down at the file and sighed. John Murphy. Of course.

This was not what he was expecting when he agreed to be an interim doctor's assistant in the aftermath of the Ark coming down. He'd done it because he was a moron - specifically, a moron who had a soft spot for Abby Griffin, the persistent head doctor with a penchant for being small and furious but who Bellamy could tell was privately frail, and a little bit broken inside. He especially had a soft spot for helping anyone who would willingly stand up to the counsel for the hundred (now dwindling at less than half that) that were sent to the ground. And if he was being honest, he was kind of fed up with guard duty. Just because he wore the jacket and held the gun didn't make him some bootlicking fascist like the rest of those corrupt assholes. 

So, yes, he agreed to do basic interviews with the few remaining of the original hundred because they trusted him...er, comparatively. None of them were particularly taken with the new arrivals. And, he supposed, he should've known he'd be dealing with some difficult people. He'd lived in a camp with them for several weeks before the Ark was brought down. But it was possible, too, that he'd been hoping to leave the rough and tumble teen with the bad attitude to an adult. Well, specifically, a real adult. An...adultier adult. Just because he was edging the line of twenty-three, that didn't mean he was happy about being considered a responsible authority figure. 

Whatever. It'd all be over in a few minutes - ten, maybe fifteen at most. He had nothing to complain about. He'd gotten a break from the guard for a few days and this volunteer work was gonna get him in good with the counsel. Maybe the reward would be worth the trouble.

Right on queue, the door opened again and Bellamy could hear Jackson saying, "Right in there," as Murphy walked in, hands stuffed in his pockets. Then the door was closed, and they were left in a strange, tensed silence, like a spring-loaded slingshot in the moments before it fired. 

Without instruction, Murphy flopped down on the lowered exam table and slumped forward, eyes never rising until he had his boots off and tossed across the room. 

A fleeting smirk twitched on his lips and the first words out of his mouth were, "Wow. You know, they  _ told  _ me there was an idiot working the clinic today." Bellamy glowered, rolled his eyes as far back as he could, and turned around, shaking his head, to grab a blood pressure cuff and a finger pulse reader. Murphy watched as Bellamy clipped the sensor onto the younger man's left ring finger, and then as he slid the cuff onto his right arm, until his eyes flickered up, and Bellamy could feel him staring, steel and silver strong. "I mean, they really are letting just any scuffed-up pretty boy walk in and grab a lab coat, huh?"

Bellamy didn't want to entertain his purposeful jabs, and he was able to not meet Murphy's gaze, but he couldn't stop himself from retorting, "Yup. Which isn't very good for you, since this idiot is cleared to stab people with needles." It was an empty threat, for obvious reasons. No way he'd ever get away with actually killing the kid, 'accidental' drug overdose or otherwise. And anyway, just because he was irritating didn't mean he wasn't useful to have around. Kid was clever, he had to admit, even despite everything. Which is why Bellamy's comment shut him right up; self-preservation. He knew the chances that Bellamy would do it were slim, but in the unlikely scenario that Bellamy might've been on the verge of snapping, Murphy wouldn't take the risk. As he let the cuff fill with air, Bellamy finally looked at the other man and added, "You don't always have to be a bitch, y'know."

"As opposed to?" Blank stare, like he really didn't know.

"Being nice?" Bellamy recorded the blood pressure result and released the valve. Over hissing air he said, "You could at least give it a try. Who knows, maybe someone might actually like you for once." It was harsh, he knew, but Murphy wasn't exactly the delicate daisy that most of the other teens could be, given the right circumstances.

Murphy snorted and asked, "And why would I want that?"

The pen chained to the clipboard rattled and swung as Bellamy picked it back up from the countertop and spun back around to face the delinquent. 

"Because when you're nice to people, and you give them a chance to be nice to you, sometimes..." he leaned down and unclamped the pulse reader, locking eyes with Murphy, "they let you have things you want. Like leaving the camp unsupervised." Exactly the right button to push, since just last week Murphy had been complaining about the constant hovering.

Murphy inhaled and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, refuting, "That's odd. I could swear I was already getting what I want by just doing the thing without asking."

"Yeah, and look where it got you," Bellamy sneered before writing down the pulse average.

"You were on that dropship, too, Atticus Finch. Or did you forget?" Murphy replied smartly, shocking Bellamy just a bit with the reference. 

He softened, not noticeably but enough to make a difference, before correcting, "Oh, absolutely. The difference is that I was there for my sister and not as a prisoner." The begrudging smirk that appeared on Murphy's face was accentuated by a disappointed shake of his head, as though he'd been expecting a less polite comeback. Bellamy sighed heavily and relented, "Look, I didn't choose who was seeing me today. So if you're gonna be an ass the whole time as some sort of revenge, be my guest. But, for the sake of my sanity, I'd like to at least try to be civil." Murphy refocused his sceptical eyes on the older man and didn't argue. "By the way, I happen to think you're half decent to be around when you're not acting like a brat. Not that it matters much to you. Just thought you should know."

A hint of appreciation glinted through Murphy's features, just a second and then it was gone again. But it'd been there, and that was something.

"Yeah," was all he said, shifting his eyes away once more, licking his lips. "Ask away," he added, waving at the clipboard.

"Right," Bellamy grumbled, just thankful this wasn't going as poorly as he'd imagined it would. He boredly began running down checklist - confirm date of birth, height, and weight; basic questions like whether he'd felt ill in the past two weeks or knew whether he'd been exposed to anything that could make him ill; known physical disabilities; family history of congenital diseases like heart defect or cystic fibrosis, as well as family history of acquired diseases like cancer or blood disorders. Then they got to the first section of cognitive health - social and interpersonal history - and everything screeched to a halt. Bellamy read off the first subsection without even registering what it was - he'd been on autopilot since lunch, had been asking the same exact questions all day. "History of sexual activity--"

"What?" Murphy demanded, startling Bellamy back to reality. When he looked up, he was met with a disbelieving, wary gaze and he felt his stomach squeeze. "That can't actually be on there."

Bellamy sort of just stared uncomprehendingly for a moment before stammering, "Wh...i-it...it's a pretty simple question. Required for everybody." When he saw the suspicion in Murphy's narrowed eyes, he tacked on, "Look, I had to fill this out, too. Besides that, I've been asking a bunch of teenagers this same exact question all day today and yesterday, every single one of them far more easily distressed than I've ever known you to be. So suck it up and answer."

Through Bellamy's rant, Murphy's face had been progressively draining of blood as the kid bristled and dropped his eyes to his lap where his fingers were tightly twisted in a pretzel that  _ had _ to be painful. But it wasn't the horror in his eyes, the telltale signs of embarrassment in his already pale cheeks, that gave Bellamy pause. It was the nauseous look forming in his expression, the clear physical demeanour of someone who was about to vomit, and Murphy was not a squeamish person, even in personal discomfort. He'd always thrived on awkwardness, the social detriment and humiliation of others. Unless he'd suddenly developed motion sickness in the last few minutes, something was very wrong. There was no palpable reason for him to look like that.

"Murphy?" Bellamy asked carefully, slowly setting down the clipboard.

"I'm fine," the boy answered too quickly, and his leg started bouncing with pent up anxiety. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and stared blankly at the cabinets under the counter, obviously waiting for Bellamy to continue. 

Swallowing the abrupt guilt that was washing through him, Bellamy slowly took the clipboard back in hand and said, "If something's wrong, you should tell me. That's the whole point of this." Murphy's lips peeled open like he wanted to speak but he remained silent. So Bellamy tried another tactic: reassurance. "Listen, it's just me and you in here, alright? None of this leaves this room. The only person who has access to patient documents is Abby, and I really don't think she seems like a person who would share anything confidential unless it was life threatening. So...whatever it is, you're safe to say it out loud..." more silence filled the room and Bellamy tried empathy this time. "If it makes you feel better, I've heard a lot of...mildly concerning answers today. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but one person said that they jack off five times a day. Now that I think about it, I should probably report that as a psychiatric disorder...my point is, how bad can it be?"

He didn't know why he was trying to make Murphy feel better about this. Didn't know why he felt like it was his job to comfort this guy who'd done nothing for him up to this point except wreak havoc. Something about seeing this emotionally detached, maliciously sarcastic hellion shivering under his own skin made a string snap somewhere deep in Bellamy's heart. Maybe it was his paternal instincts from fourteen years of practically raising his sister on his own. Maybe he just had a weakness for this particular brand of stand-offish prick.

It had been a few long moments since Bellamy had voiced his wonderment, and Murphy was finally taking deep breath and blinking up to meet Bellamy's insistent stare. 

The younger man's eyes turned sleek with unshed tears as he trembled out, "I was a prostitute." The words were rough and rushed, like if he said them fast enough, they couldn't stick around to haunt him. But Bellamy was stricken with an uneasy shock that snapped his spine up ramrod straight. He blinked rapidly, trying to process the information he'd just been given, trying harder not to react the wrong way. But it seemed he already had, as Murphy snarked, "Let me get this right. The guy who spent four more years in school than I did, needs prostitution explained to him?"

Bellamy's mind jumped to counter before his body could and he attempted to give a habitually snappy response, but instead, he sputtered, "No, I just...I don't...how do..." while gawking, wide-eyed at the revelation.

Luckily, Murphy seemed to instinctually understand what Bellamy was thinking, and averted his stoic gaze, rasping, "My mom was floated when I was eight. I was left with a drunk father who couldn't work. How else were we supposed to eat?" And Bellamy got the overwhelming sensation that he had to barf. Eight. Fucking  _ eight _ . Bellamy hoped to God that wasn't when Murphy had started selling his body. The caustic wall shot back up around the kid and Murphy joked, tried to joke, "Guess I just figured getting fucked by perverts was better than getting the space box for stealing."

Bellamy could swear he saw the glimmer of fright mocking Murphy's steadfast suit of armour, giggling behind the shadows under his eyes. It made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to swear, wanted to scream, to break his clipboard and shred the records, and scoop up this delicate origami form folded with paper mâché and masquerade feathers that was now cowering before him, and he wanted to run away into the forest and wash away the hurt in the holy creekbeds of this mournful planet.

But he didn't do any of that.

"I'm sorry," was all he said instead, cries of his bones ringing in his ears, begging to be set free. "I shouldn't have teased you like that." Murphy did not move a muscle, the chinks in that armour so slow to repair. Solemnly, Bellamy wrote the note in under bold, unfeeling letters that announced 'COMMENTS', and then checked the boxes for child/adolescent sexual abuse and history of sex work. He swallowed hard and croaked, "I still need to know about after...after you stopped doing that, but we don't have have to go over that right now. I can give you a day or two and we can come back to this in a setting that's more comfortable for you." He gripped the clipboard tight enough to crack it if he moved the wrong way. "Protocol is...full STD workup, which we can do today or later. Results would take a few hours."

Smirk back in full force, Murphy snidely remarked, "With my luck, I probably have something incurable and deadly."

Bellamy shook his head and muttered, "Don't say that."

Of course, Murphy eyed him curiously and inquired, "I'm sorry, you care why?"

"Because," Bellamy started, closing his eyes and pressing his right thumb and forefinger into opposite temples to quell the sobering headache that was forming behind his eyes and in his jaw. "I have to report suicidal responses to the counsel and something like that can be interpreted as suicidal."

Murphy scoffed indignantly, hygienic paper crinkling as he leaned back on his hands, arms locked. In an unexpectedly soft tone, he admitted, "Yeah, well, maybe I am. Still wouldn't be any of their business."

"No," Bellamy countered, dropping his hand. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground as he explained, "You're too narcissistic to kill yourself."

"Ever heard of making a point?" Murphy replied automatically. "And anyway, why would they want to keep around someone who wants to die? Seems a little counterproductive, don't you think?" When Bellamy continued to survey the floor, not entirely hearing what Murphy was saying, the younger man snipped, "Hey, earth to Leonard McCoy. The fuck is more important than a philosophical conversation?" Bellamy breathed in sharply and whipped his head up to face the other man. He didn't realise the look he must've had on his face until Murphy rolled his eyes and sat up, asking, "What do you wanna know?"

Bewildered by the seemingly random question, Bellamy briefly forgot what they'd been talking about. Until he saw the red blossoms unfolding on Murphy's cheeks and the way he fiddled with the hem of his thin shirt, blanched and bony fingers on calloused hands and Earth-scarred arms, lithe chest robing exasperated breaths. Kid seemed just as young as he truly was, a sepulchral teen with one foot in the playpen and the other in the grave.

"Just how long you were in that line of work," Bellamy worded carefully, stepping on eggshells with no balance bar to catch if he were to face-plant. "And then anything after that and up to this point. Just...an approximate guess of how many partners, which sex you prefer, how often, if you use protection. Wanna make sure it's not affecting your emotional capacity to the point of physical symptoms."

In his periphery, he watched Murphy nod.

"Well, this is gonna be morbid as fuck," Murphy seemed to relax, scooting up the exam table and dropping back onto the pillow. Bellamy made himself comfortable, as comfortable as one could get while listening to childhood trauma, by lifting himself onto the counter and reclining against the wall. "Started a few months before I turned nine. Paying customers got harder to find once I hit thirteen. Even the people who'd been coming to me for the last four years seemed to just...I don't know, lose interest. Teenager's not as enticing, I guess." He spoke about it as if they were discussing the annual income report out of hearing range of the boss, casual and boredly nihilistic. "So eventually I got desperate enough to actually attempt to steal something."

"Booze," Bellamy acknowledged, nodding regretfully. He'd heard the story. "For your dad, right?" 

A rancourous huff left Murphy's throat in a rush, and he groused, "Not that he deserved it." Then, more sorrowful, "I already lost my mom. I couldn't lose him, too, no matter how much I hated him." There was a weighted pause, a moment where everything was staid and bleak, where tears trembled along the tips of eyelashes and voices caught behind cages of teeth. "I was still a kid, y'know? He was my dad even if he never tried to be."

Bellamy did not know. Did not understand. Did not have a dad to love or hate or want to save. It was always just him and his sister and his absent mother. He was the dad, had been forced to grow into shoes that were impossible to fill at six years old. Sometimes he still got flashes of resentment toward his mother and Octavia, for stealing away his childhood like that. But, evidently, it could've been worse. At least he got a sibling he'd do anything for out of it. What did Murphy get? Sociopathy, prison, and boundless torture? Pain that followed him everywhere, that he couldn't escape even when he physically left the Ark and came to Earth? Bellamy could be permanently miserable, instead of the situational grief he suffered through now.

"When they threw me in the space box, some of the other inmates already knew what I was outside of prison, so I got the immense honour of being their pet fucktoy," Murphy emphasised his sarcasm on the words 'immense honour' by sweeping his hand out grandiosely. When his hand returned, it went to his face and he covered his closed eyes, frowning. "I guess I never really got to have a normal experience until we got sent here."

A pounding sort of dread trickled through Bellamy's body, bereft for the things that should've been, for the abandoned innocence. Everyone should get to be a child. Even people who got amusement from the violent stupidity of the gullible. And suddenly, the dread transformed into inexplicable rage. Because--

"By then it was only a month before my eighteenth," Murphy mumbled, hand plummeting back down to hang over the side of the table.

Yeah, that.

How could the universe be as cruel as to let someone suffer for that long? To make absolute certain that a single person never got to know the wonders of being a regular teenager, heartache and all? What the fuck kind of punk-ass system was that?

And, yes, it was Murphy, the same guy who'd strung Bellamy up in vengeance for the injustice inflicted on him, and the same guy who would probably do it again if Bellamy provoked him enough, and the same guy who'd sooner save his own ass than sacrifice it for the welfare of the many, and maybe there was something wrong with Bellamy, maybe he was the one who needed another mental health evaluation. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to fix this somehow.

"Wanna go get wasted?" He asked simply, not expecting a straightforward answer.

Amazingly, however, Murphy propped himself up on his elbows and locked eyes with Bellamy for split second before saying, "With you? 'Eah, why the hell not. Should be fun." Pushed himself off the table and wandered over to his discarded boots. 

They never got to the physical examination part. Maybe they would tonight.

That thought made Bellamy knit his brows low in alarm, and he stilled as he puzzled over where the fuck it came from. Was he already wasted? Did someone slip something into the coffee he chugged that morning? He glanced up at Murphy, who was bent over, foot up against the edge of the counter to tie his laces.

Don't get him wrong, John Murphy was...an admittedly attractive man. Boy, really. He was by no means short or physically small, but his frame was wiry, fortuitous strength and nimble speed in an unassuming package. Though he'd been out of normal school for a long time, he was cunning and prognostic, and knew how to make himself invisible, unseen in the background if he wanted to be, sly as a two-tailed fox and dangerously perceptive. It would be unwise to get tangled in that web of complex workings, and it would be fantastic to know what it was like to be wrapped up in those deceptively solid arms. He wasn't conventionally cute by any standard. Rather he was made of distinctive shapes and sharp angles that could slice you open if you weren't cautious. He covered himself most of the time, overtly conscious of how people would look at him if he didn't, but Bellamy had seen him in just a shirt and boxer briefs when they'd all gotten plastered one night at the dropship campsite and stripped down in the humidity, and he was tightly muscled, runner's legs, balanced feet and deft movements. Murphy always held himself like a man who had nothing to lose and, Bellamy supposed, maybe he truly didn't.

"Where to, Hercules," Murphy interrupted that swirl of thoughts with a stomp of his foot as it fell back to the floor.

Bellamy searched his face, not entirely sure what he was looking for, but then, without permission, mind you, the question seeped from his mouth, "Have you ever been kissed?"

Murphy's head snapped up and his eyes ballooned momentarily as he nervously gave Bellamy a sideways glance, murmuring, "Of course..."

Bellamy almost came to his senses then but his traitorous mouth rebelled, "No, I don't mean, like...like how those people did. Or, like, just because you felt like you had to. I mean...really, actually kissing someone because you wanted to. Just because you felt like it, because you liked them."

Grey eyes swept downward and brown hills rose over them in an incredulous reaction. Murphy griped, "Guess we're skipping the booze, then." He hung his head back on his shoulders and confirmed, "No. I guess I haven't. Why?"

"Is that something you want?" Bellamy breathed, caution to the wind, logic out the window. 

Murphy's eyes finally caught on him and silence threaded between them, eye of the needle in a quaking hand. 

"Are...you..." Murphy started, seemingly trying to find his words. "Making an offer?"

Bellamy's lips popped open in surprise, because...yeah, when he thought about it, he sort of was. And he couldn't quite remember why he'd been so tentative to ask.

He shrugged noncommittally, "Sure, why not?"

The hope that sparkled on Murphy's skin prompted a decidedly too eager jolt of energy through Bellamy's body. Suddenly, his fingers were tingling and it felt like the earth was swaying beneath him, bauble on a tree branch.

With full moons for eyes, Murphy pulled his extremities closer to himself, trying to be small and failing - right now, he was the biggest thing in the room, the only unanswered question, the exciting countdown to zero. And when he finally spoke, it was like he exploded, words shooting out as brilliant bursts of firework paintings. 

"You would kiss me?"

Bellamy nodded, slightly off-balance now as the notion flooded his head with images of what they'd look like buried in each other like that.

There was a crackling, "Okay," static built into his tongue, and Murphy was expectantly watching Bellamy from the few feet away he was standing, a distance that abruptly felt far too large. 

Bellamy crept foward, keeping his eyes fixed on the quivering kid in front of him, and when he was close enough, he lifted his hand to one translucent cheek, uncertain. But when Murphy just barely leaned into his touch, Bellamy felt a fire spark in his gut, and he traced his fingers back to brush through Murphy's hair. It was soft, clean now, no longer the mess of greasy, clumped up strands it had been when they were on their own. Bellamy gulped and reveled in the warmth that radiated from Murphy's scalp. His other hand found its place hooked behind Murphy's ear, the younger man's pulse feverishly hammering through his neck against Bellamy's wrist. He waited for Murphy to snake his sweaty palms up to Bellamy's waist, and when they landed there finally, Bellamy surged forward, ducking down to press his lips against Murphy's. 

It was a school-crush peck, nothing to write home about, until he pulled back and Murphy released a little gasp, a teeny thing that bounced between them, knocking itself around Bellamy's skull. So he brought his face back down, canting Murphy's chin up to slot their lips together, and he tasted sunny and electric, a little bit like the nutmeg they offered for the artificial coffee in the morning. Bellamy curled his fingers in Murphy's hair, and guided him to tilt his head and open his mouth, teased his tongue in, encouraging Murphy to play along.

The younger man's hands flew up to push bruising fingers into the back of Bellamy's neck as he let out a noise that sounded pleasantly surprised. A smirk flitted over Bellamy's lips, adoration prodding at his heart, and a low chuckle escaped his chest as he shuffled closer so their bodies were pressed flush against each other and Murphy was pushed into the door. He would probably have to end this soon because the kid was starting to tug at Bellamy's shirt and making all varieties of gasping, grunting, needy noises, and they really would do good not to do anything too risky here, but God, this boy was not about to let go of Bellamy's top. 

Reluctantly, Bellamy broke away, heaving breaths, and as Murphy made a desperate grab for him again, chasing his lips, the older man grinned and soothed his thumb over Murphy's jaw, telling him, "Woah, hold up. Just...relax, okay?" Murphy shot him a death glare because even when he was begging to be kissed senseless, he was still a force to be reckoned with. Bellamy sort of giggled and added, "As much-" small, reassuring kiss "-as I'd like to hold you up against this door and-" another one "-defile you, this place is not nearly soundproof enough."

Murphy managed to capture Bellamy's lips again, just briefly, but then pulled back and demanded, "Where is?"

And Bellamy just was absolutely  _ not _ expecting that response. So, of course, while he was caught off guard, Murphy used the opportunity to pitch upward and kiss him with a blindsiding ferocity, forcing Bellamy to stumble back toward the exam table, taking Murphy with him. When the backs of his knees hit the edge, Bellamy let himself drop down and Murphy wasted no time climbing up to bracket his hips. It wasn't until Murphy was slipping his fingers under Bellamy's shirt that the older man's rationale made an appearance.

He clamped his hands around Murphy's forearm and quickly leaned back to look him in the eye. Murphy, being a stubborn ass, whined out his visceral protest and gave Bellamy a fatally disapproving look.

Bellamy searched for the right words and what ended up leaving him was, "You don't have to do that with me. Don't do things just because you think you have to."

Murphy glowered confoundingly for a long second like he was expecting Bellamy to say 'Haha! Just kidding!' and when that didn't happen, Murphy instead quipped, "Have you ever known me to do anything I didn't want to do?"

And for just a moment, Bellamy thought he'd been outsmarted, but then that feeling of dread resurfaced, bubbling just behind his heart, and he replied, "For survival? Yes."

That was apparently not what Murphy wanted to hear, because his irritated gaze morphed into crestfallen ambivalence.

"Oh," was the only thing he said, and his hands went limp on Bellamy's waist, as if something inside of him had cracked, and it took everything Bellamy had not to fall back onto that table and take the boy with him and just go insane together.

"Hey," Bellamy combed his fingers back through Murphy's hair, trying to get the kid to look at him. "That doesn't mean I don't want...whatever this is. I just want you to be sure. I don't want it to be some knee-jerk reaction for you." When Murphy still wouldn't meet his eyes, Bellamy inclined his head and kissed him softly, consolingly. "If you can decide...if you can say without a doubt that you want this, then...then we can. Okay?"

Wavering voice, Murphy wondered, "What if I can't tell?"

A mallet smashing Bellamy's heart into a million pieces, and he wracked his mind for something to say to that.

"Well, does it...does it feel the same as when you did it to stay alive?" He asked, thumbs still scanning reassuring lines through Murphy's skin. "Or does it feel different from that?"

Murphy seemed to mull it over, hands just barely twitching back to life, eyelashes fanning out over cheeks, and in that moment he was kind of beautiful, in the same way the sunset was beautiful, and in the same way a flower was beautiful. He was somehow simultaneously the most powerful source of energy in the universe and the most vulnerable act of nature on the planet, but never was he meant to be forced upon or done to. Never did he exist to be a playing piece, a silent drone to mould however.

No, John Murphy was to tell, not to be told, was to direct, not to be directed. He was humbly brave under his masks of discontent, and he deserved choice, deserved freedom from shackled fear. Bellamy wanted to give that to him, because it wasn't likely that anyone else would. None of them got to see him in this light, none of them got know how he looked like this, in a gulf of uncertainty. They wouldn't get it.

Bellamy bent a finger under Murphy's chin, ghosting his thumb just under Murphy's lower lip and, soft as a petal, he whispered, "John?" Silence. "What are you feeling?"

The boy brokenly mumbled back, "Scared."

"Of me?" Bellamy questioned, trying not to sound upset by it.

"No," Murphy said plainly, and relief washed over Bellamy in waves. "But it is different," smoke-stack eyes pierced Bellamy's, a blunder of brown and grey that could be human or that could be the aftermath of the war that took place here so long ago. Certainly, Murphy's words could raze or nourish the same. "From...from all the other times." He got quiet at the end. "No one ever asked before."

To lighten the load of such a revelation, Bellamy pasted on a small smile and said, "Wow, are you having a feeling? The great John Murphy? Having emotions?"

There was a roll of eyes and an insolent smirk, and Murphy gave his retort, "You just have to ruin everything, don't you?"

"Only to keep you amused," Bellamy insisted, hands now holding Murphy in place at his hips. When he got an appreciative smile for that, he added, "I worry about you imploding when you get too serious."

"Wow!" Murphy chortled, nodding his feigned incredulity. "Now,  _ that _ is mean, Blake. I approve." 

Bellamy laughed whole-heartedly and tugged the kid down to kiss him again, feeling the way Murphy careened forward to meet him halfway.

When Bellamy pulled back, he offered, "You know, if you really wanna do this and you're just nervous, we can still go get wasted. A bit of liquid courage couldn't hurt."

"Boy, you're real intent on getting me drunk," Murphy teased, briefly catching Bellamy's lips again, then positing against them, "I think you're the one who's nervous."

"Yeah?" Bellamy quizzed, giving in to the natural intoxication of endorphins. "Maybe that's because I've thought about this before."

Just as Murphy was about kiss him again, he paused, eyes closed, but Bellamy watched his brows flinch lower as Murphy asked, "Wait, really?" Bellamy simply hummed his confirmation, listing up to connect their mouths with a noise of contentment. Murphy broke off again, though that didn't stop Bellamy from mouthing at his chin, his jaw, down his throat, as Murphy interrogated, "Wh...h-hold on, wait. When?"

"Does it matter?" murmured Bellamy, right into the hollow at the base of Murphy's neck, and he looped his arms around Murphy's waist to yank the boy hard against his own body.

Murphy gasped, hand clutching Bellamy's shoulder, and muttered, "Guess not."

Bellamy happily dragged his lips all up and down the column of Murphy's throat, relishing the soft, breathy noises that escaped it, as he ran his index finger down Murphy's chest, his stomach, just above the waist of his pants, and paused there, asking permission. The younger man held on tighter with one hand and used the other to push Bellamy's between them, where it cupped the bulge growing beneath too many layers of fabric. It was all the permission he needed.

He poured every ounce of his attention into making sure Murphy felt good and safe, making sure to touch him gently in all the places that made him whimper and squirm, all while Bellamy rubbed him through those damn pants. But patience was a virtue for Bellamy, and he wasn't about to break it for his own excitement. Not until Murphy was panting and blabbering nonsense above him.

That's when Bellamy slowly unbuttoned and unzipped, lips never leaving Murphy's skin except to whisper, "This still alright?"

To which the response was a desperate, "God, please, yes," and the ever tightening grip on his shoulder threatening to break his bones.

So Bellamy plunged his hand into Murphy's undone pants, remaining over-the-underwear for the time being, and worked his other hand up under the standard issue t-shirt that everyone had at least five of. Murphy didn't even falter before complying, lifting his arms to let Bellamy awkwardly tug it over his head, flipping it inside out, then haphazardly throwing it on the linoleum floor. And then the arms were hooking around him again, holding him close by the shoulders, so he took the marvelous opportunity to put his lips anywhere he could find, mouthing and licking and grazing over every square centimetre of exposed skin that was available to him, even stopping to tongue at each nipple until they were tight and peaked.

When Murphy was shiny with spit wherever Bellamy could reach, the older man finally dipped his hand into Murphy's underwear and wrapped it around his blessedly wet cock, and as if to complement it, Bellamy's throat went dry. He tried to keep himself calm and steady, but having Murphy in his hand like that, having Murphy spiraled around his little finger, begging, was exhilarating. And the delicious way Murphy rolled his hips into it, like he couldn't get enough, like he'd never been touched like this before, and probably, Bellamy thought to himself, he hadn't, and the idea that it was highly likely Bellamy was the first, it piled onto the ache he felt to tear every piece of clothing off and worship Murphy's body until he was crying. 

Luckily for him, Murphy seemed to be on the same page.

The kid gasped out, holding himself up purely with sheer force of will at this point, "Jesus, just fucking--ah!--take your clothes off already."

With pleasure.

Bellamy removed his hand from Murphy's pants, for which he received an impatient whine, and sped through whipping off his mandatory lab coat, shirt, and opening his own pants, pulling himself out so he could gather them both in his fist and jerk frantically.

Their foreheads leaned together, eyes closed, roughly silenced noises dropping from their gaping mouths, Bellamy scolded himself. If he was only going to get one chance to do this, he wasn't going to waste it on something so inelegant. So he forced himself to stop stroking, hand now dampened by blurts of pre-cum, and he wrenched at Murphy's pants again, this time wordlessly asking him to lift up so they could come off. In a blur of rustling fabric and scattering garments, they both removed the remainder of their covers, and, fully bared to each other, collided back together in seering kisses and writhing bodies.

Legs still bent over the end of the table, Bellamy lowered himself back so Murphy could better straddle him, and swirled his hands through the spotted patterns of Murphy's scars, most of which carried with them untold horrors that Bellamy intended to soothe. There was nothing broken, nothing to fix about John Murphy, but he was as lost and scared as the rest of them, and yet his story prevailed as the only one unspoken. Bellamy wanted to reach inside him, into his heart, and reveal every splitting, time-faded memory, discover what made Murphy tick, because certainly it was not the same machinery as everyone else, certainly he was inherited a model that was old and sick and relied on parts that no one could find anymore. Certainly there were no replacements, and certainly, that's just how he was meant to live. Not in pain or disrepair, but uniquely flawed, a little bit crooked, just so that it would make a difference.

Maybe that fault was why Murphy's heart skipped a beat when Bellamy tugged at his thighs and whispered, "Come up here and sit on my face." 

Maybe that's what caused the shocked gasp that fell from Murphy to splinter down the middle like a snapped twig, caused Murphy to gawk at him like it was the first time he'd ever heard those words spoken. 

Oh, fuck, was it the first time he'd ever heard those words spoken?

Bellamy's brows curled in and he stated more than questioned, "You've never had that done to you before...?" Murphy shook his head, not saying anything more, and Bellamy smiled a little. "Let me show you?"

Blinking wildly, nodding loosely, Murphy let himself be pulled up until he was positioned over Bellamy's face and, damn, the view from there was hotter than anything Bellamy had seen before. Murphy was all white-knuckled, hunched in on himself like he didn't know just how gorgeous he was, and maybe he didn't, but Bellamy was definitely going to let him know. Locking one hand over the top of Murphy's thigh, Bellamy used the other to thumb one ass cheek apart and admire the clean-shaven, winking hole above him before angling his head and running the tip of his tongue around the ridge.

He felt Murphy lurch forward, an astonished wheeze billowing out from his chest, and the mechanical clinking sound of him grasping the top of the cushion table, forcing the reclining part to jiggle. Bellamy internally praised Murphy for his mind-melting reaction, but outwardly continued his lavishing ministrations, soaking the furl of dark pink in saliva until his tongue poked in with ease, at which point Murphy let loose an unwoven moan, a pretty sound that could rival birdsong or even the roaring of the sun, itself. It wasn't until Bellamy was rhythmically slip-sliding in and out that Murphy began to grind his hips down onto the spit slick heat, letting himself make noises that were wondrously strained so as not to be too loud, not to get them caught, because really they shouldn't have been doing this here but it was sort of unavoidable at this point.

Bellamy ate him out until Murphy was clinging to his sanity, legs trembling to keep him up, nails clawing at Bellamy's hair, and the younger man was practically sobbing for more, more friction, more touching, more anything. When Bellamy felt he'd done what he'd promised, he trailed his tongue up the perineum, guiding the younger man to tilt his hips down, and sucked one of Murphy's balls into his mouth, then the other, before finally mouthing at the base of Murphy's cock, reveling in the stubble tickling his tongue there. 

He scooted himself up enough to lick up the hard length, teasing his tongue against the salt-tangy slit at the head, then pulled Murphy back down to level their faces.

The younger man looked bleary, wild eyed, and Bellamy took great pleasure in the accomplishment. That is, until Murphy kept going lower, barely managing to even fake it through the foreplay, lips skipping quickly down Bellamy's torso and then, without warning, fitting over the crown of Bellamy's dick. 

Instead of protesting, since it was obvious at this point that Murphy was doing this of his own volition, Bellamy threw his arm over his mouth to muffle the yelp that tried to escape. He then had to bite down - hard - into his flesh when Murphy enthusiastically swallowed down the entirety of Bellamy's member, not even a breath's hesitation, just straight-up deepthroat, and Jesus Christ what the fucking fuck.

He tried, really he did, not to rock up into the wet warmth, but Murphy was humming around the solid intrusion like he was doing nothing more than filling out paperwork, and, probably, that's exactly what it was like for him. Which was why Bellamy quickly cajoled the boy back up, desperately needing this to not be like all the times Murphy had to please other people.

"Stop that," Bellamy wisped against those reddened lips. He kissed Murphy delicately, slowing the pace they'd been building, and declared, "This isn't about me."

"So what-" ginger, lapping kiss, sweet like sugarcane "-am I supposed to do."

"Let me take care of you," Bellamy suggested, dreaming up in that instant a myriad of ways he could get Murphy off, but then landing on a conclusion he'd nearly forgotten in this dance of nudity. "This is for you. It's about what you want. Okay?"

"If that's true," Murphy leaned in close enough to breathe into Bellamy's mouth but stayed just far enough so the older man couldn't kiss him again, "then you'd let me take what I want."

A shiver slammed through Bellamy's body, shamelessly salivating over the image of this Murphy that's comfortable enough to take control.

"And what is it you want?" Bellamy laid the words out slow as caramel, same hue as his skin after a day in the sun, and Murphy's devious grin told him all he needed to know.

Sneaking down to press his lips into Bellamy's ear, Murphy mumbled, "I want you to fuck me. Show me how it is with someone I trust."

And goddamn, Bellamy could  _ not _ ignore that brazen request - he'd never forgive himself.

"Shit," Bellamy's fingers groped at the meat of Murphy's ass, hips stuttering at the friction. Voice breaking, he swore again, "Shit. John."

Something about the use of his name made Murphy puff out an apprehensive breath into the space below Bellamy's ear, or maybe it was just the way their cocks caught on sweaty skin and slid together, or maybe it was something else entirely, but fuck's sake, the noises did nothing but egg Bellamy on. He uttered something about lube and Murphy swung himself off to let Bellamy shoot up and rifle through a drawer. He came back with a small container of petroleum jelly, an incredibly old form of skin protection, and a rarity to come by on the Ark, but medical always had it somehow. Needless to say, this was not the first time he'd fooled around with someone while the doctors weren't around.

Sultry, he crawled up between Murphy's legs, peppering kisses from his ankle to his inner thigh, and the boy seemed to spread them open so naturally, like it was the only thing he'd been born for.

His hole was still slick with spit and a bit looser from Bellamy's thorough tongue-fucking earlier, so his lubed middle finger slipped in with ease. Murphy was straining to open wider, feet already planted on the very edges of the bed as he hitched up to take Bellamy's finger deeper. He released a stifled gasp, and Bellamy glanced up at the clock on the wall. He was shocked to see it was fifteen minutes past when he should've been done, when all non-essentials were supposed to leave the wing, and that no one had come to check on them yet. He figured some people might've been more worried about them murdering each other.

Training his eyes back on the task at hand, he set out to add a second digit, fascinated by the way it disappeared inside, the way the elastic muscle stretched around him.

Above him, Murphy panted out a long, incoherent string of nonsense, alternating between "BellBellBellBell" and a variety of colourful curse words as he pushed himself farther onto the skewer of Bellamy's fingers. When he started pleading for more, Bellamy chuckled darkly and sucked dark blotches into the insides of Murphy's thighs, the barest scrape of teeth as he pulled off. Then, on his next outstroke, he bundled his third finger up with the other two and slid back in nice and gradual, watching Murphy's face morph to display the pure ecstasy that came with doing this right. A loopy-sounding moan resonated through the room as Bellamy dared to add his pinky to the ever-widening curve he was shoving past Murphy's lax rim. 

The kid was undeniably strung out, high on getting fingered by someone who knew what they were doing, someone that he 'trusted', which should not have been driving Bellamy as outright crazy as it was, but something about hearing that, and hearing it from Murphy, tugged at some cold, lost part of him that'd been hidden away deep inside years before. Somehow, knowing Murphy trusted him was currently the single hottest thing about this whole experience, which, in itself, was indicative of just how fucked up in the head Bellamy was, getting hard over emotional sentiment moreso than the sheer, unfiltered beauty spread out in front of him.

Absently, Bellamy kept whispering all the praiseful, mindless things that kept pelting his brain until it was nothing more than a puddle of useless liquid. Things like 'you're so fucking beautiful' and 'wanna do this forever' and 'I'd do anything for you', all the things he'd never say while sober. 

But he was in the midst of pushing off his elbows and hovering beside Murphy's ear to ask, "Feel good?" and basking in the glowy sound the younger boy was able to cough up, nodding faintly.

And when he was done leaving a trail of kisses down the side of Murphy's arched neck, Bellamy removed his fingers unceremoniously, and coerced the weak-legged, mind-numbed younger man upward until Bellamy could switch places with him. Murphy's full weight was held up almost solely by Bellamy's trembling arms, strength failing him as he situated himself beneath the other boy and roused him into at least hanging on to Bellamy's shoulders.

Enervated, almost like a rag-doll at this point, dead weight as he tripped on the acid-like inebriation of good sex, Murphy seemed to claw his way through the fog enough to bully Bellamy's mouth open and lick inside, sloppy and uncoordinated and over-excited.

Bellamy went with it, aiming his throbbing cockhead so it lined up with the puckered-open entrance nestled between Murphy's legs, then popping it past the ring of muscle so Murphy broke away with a huff of gratification. The chaotically obligated young man didn't wait a single second before he sunk down onto Bellamy's shaft, tossing off an indulgent moan as his velvet insides gave way to the invasion.

When he was all the way seated, ass to Bellamy's hips, Murphy keeled forward, folding in on himself as he rested his head on Bellamy's shoulder and blubbered on about 'so good so good Bell fuck feel so good want this want you' and who was Bellamy to deprive him of that? The older man patiently waited for Murphy to get used to the feeling before experimentally rocking up into the heat, still leaving it up to the kid to decide on how he wanted this done.

As soon as the first breathy moan breached his lips, Murphy was spurred into action, hooking his arms over the top of Bellamy shoulders, hugging his legs in tighter around Bellamy's hips, and lifting himself up, before surging back down and throwing his head back. When he did it again, his mouth fell open wide and Bellamy determined his hard-on had been driven directly into Murphy's prostate by the looks of it. 

He let Murphy ride him like that, let the younger man set the rhythm, let the harsh slap of skin against skin echo through the relative privacy of the exam room, and decided he was officially never going to be able to fuck anyone else ever again. Because Murphy was bouncing in his lap now, taking what he wanted, just like he'd said, and it was the number one sexiest fucking thing Bellamy had ever been a part of. 

Laying back once more, Bellamy dropped his head back onto the thin, papery pillow and simply held on for dear life, grasping at Murphy's sharply pivoting hips. Murphy, who soon followed suit, folding himself down to tongue-wrestle Bellamy into frantic, open-mouthed kisses, and god, that boy could kiss. And don't even get Bellamy started on the filthy things that came out of Murphy's mouth when he whispered in Bellamy's ear.

The kid came to a sudden halt and breathlessly commanded, "Fuck me, Bell."

So, Bellamy did - he squeezed his crushing grip on Murphy's hips, positioned him at the tip of the member that was still thrumming inside, and thrust in with clenched teeth, growling into Murphy's ear as the kid released a wrecked shout. The exam table creaked beneath them as Bellamy used what little leverage he had (as well as his rapidly diminishing self-control) to drill into the heat above him, well past being able to pause to kiss him, though thankfully not too far gone to appreciate the seemingly endless moan whooshing from Murphy's mouth, slowly rising in pitch.

As Bellamy's onslaught became erratic, shuddering movements and arrhythmic pace, he felt Murphy's walls clamping down around him, which was nothing but a catalyst to his building pleasure.

"BellBellBellBellBell," Murphy's voice was choked off by each forceful jolt rammed into him, and Bellamy was pretty sure he could feel the kid's nails cutting past the layers of skin on his back. Into his ear, Murphy wheezed, "Don't stop don't stop--" cut off by a particularly hard shove into his ass.

Out of his mind with lust, Bellamy gritted back, "Gonna come for me?" At Murphy's fervent nod, Bellamy bent an arm around Murphy's lower back, stuck the other between them to take hold of the younger boy's aching cock, held him to his body possessively, and hissed as he furiously stripped the hardness in his hand, "Do it, John. Come for me."

The impressive wail that ripped from Murphy's throat was accompanied by his entire body seizing up and the delightful pulses of cum striping Bellamy's stomach, burning hot and messy.

"Fuck," Murphy sobbed as Bellamy forced himself to a stop, now holding the other man gently, caressing touches and soothing patterns. But Murphy was quick to voice his disapproval. "I don't remember telling you to stop moving."

And while Bellamy wanted to be tender and comforting, something about the way Murphy spit the words out at him, as if Bellamy were his own personal chew toy, sparked a wild animal instinct in him. He was just about to keep going when Murphy impatiently began grinding down into his lap, dick still fully sheathed inside, and Bellamy quaked and sucked in a broken breath through his teeth, keening at Murphy's hands tangling in his hair.

"Come on, wanna feel you," Murphy damn near begged, chasing Bellamy's release. "Want you to come inside me."

That was the last straw, the final cog that broke the system, and Bellamy short-circuited, twitching up into the torrid warmth Murphy's lax body, sending shock after shock of climax through his spine. He came in spurts, painting Murphy's insides white, clutching at the kid for some semblance of reality. And in their shared dream-like state, they collapsed back into the exam table, heaving breaths and entwining limbs.

After a long time, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours, Bellamy broke the silence with the burning question, "Did I hurt you?"

Murphy's smile curved against Bellamy's collarbone and he whispered back, "You think I'm that fragile?"

Huffing out a laugh, Bellamy answered, "'Course not." Splayed his hand out over the middle of Murphy's spine and added, "Just being protective, I guess."

"Protective?" Murphy mused, burying his hands in the unruly curls atop Bellamy's head as the older man hummed his assent, planting a kiss on Murphy's temple. "Who says I need your protection."

Bellamy grinned, murmuring, "I says."

"Well, fine," Murphy relented, "but don't say I didn't warn you, Blake. I can be a handful."

"I've noticed," Bellamy laughed, hugging tighter. Then when everything was quiet again, he said, "If you don't want me around after this, I'll understand."

Murphy stilled, breathing and all, and his tone was that of bewilderment as he argued, "Are you high? You fucking dipshit, of course I want you around. Who else am I supposed to annoy into kissing me again?" Bellamy sighed contentedly, shaking his head at Murphy's absurdity, but imagining all the ways he could shut the kid up if he really was being too annoying. But then, very seriously, Murphy asked, "What are you gonna do if you got something from me?"

And the thought hadn't crossed Bellamy's mind but he wasn't about to freak out. Though the Ark was grounded, the medical wing still had all of its state-of-the-art machinery and meds intact. Bellamy doubted Murphy had anything - STD's were practically unheard of on the Ark - but he supposed maybe he shouldn't have done all this with the kid until after he was tested. Regardless, he was just happy to be exactly where he was in this moment, tied around Murphy like a double knot.

So, shrugging, Bellamy answered, "Then, I guess we can be fucked up together. If that's what you want."

After a silent pause, Murphy nuzzled his face into Bellamy's neck and agreed, "Hm. I think I can live with that." His thumb danced over Bellamy's chest and he added, "By the way, I happen to think you're half decent, too."

And Bellamy smiled, squinted eyes and wrinkled cheeks. Maybe now, they could be wholly decent, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments sustain my life force, pls don't let me die.


End file.
